Gospel Story Finder

Alison and Dad chatted about ballet, school, and work as they crossed Topham’s Bridge on their way home. Then Dad asked, “Alison, would you like to go with me to Birchington Ward this Sunday? President Hicks wants me to see how everything’s going there. I also have some interviews there for temple recommends and Melchizedek Priesthood advancements.”
“Just me?”
“Just you. You’re pretty good company.”
“Sure!” Alison was pleased that Dad had asked her. In all the years he’d been on the high council, and now as a counselor in the stake presidency, she’d never gone on a trip with him by herself.
“It’s a good hour’s drive up to Birchington, and I ought to get there a little early, so we’ll need to be ready to leave by 7:30 A.M. You might want to bring along a book or two for company.”
“OK,” Alison agreed cheerfully. She was eager to visit another ward and to spend time with Dad.
By seven-thirty Sunday morning Alison had eaten breakfast, brushed her teeth, dressed in a skirt and jacket Mom had made her, and combed her hair. She had also gathered her scriptures, a notepad, a pen, and two library books.
“You’re really guarding against boredom!” Mom said, smiling as she looked at the bulging shopping bag. She smoothed Alison’s hair and gave her a kiss. “Have a good time.”
Alison pulled out a book as soon as they were on the interstate highway, setting it down occasionally to look at farms and forests. Once they were in Birchington, she put the book away so she could watch for the meetinghouse.
“It’s not hard to spot it,” she remarked as she glimpsed the steeple through some trees. “Most LDS meetinghouses look alike.”
“Yes, they do,” Dad agreed as he parked the car. In the building he knocked quietly on one of the office doors. In a minute a tall, gray-haired man Alison recognized from stake conferences appeared and warmly welcomed Dad with a burst of greetings, comments, and questions.
Alison shifted from one foot to the other, feeling a little awkward. Dad reached out and pulled her close to him. “This is my daughter Alison, Bishop Nightingale.”
Alison politely shook the bishop’s hand.
“So you’re the youngest of the Tanner bunch,” he said. “Nice of you to come. It’s always nice to have visitors. I like to have them speak.” He winked at Dad. “It’s a change for the ward, and it means I don’t have to talk so much.”
Alison looked at Dad and smiled. He was always being asked to talk—so often that he would joke, “I feel like a walking tape recorder! Just plug me in, and I speak. Rewind me every so often, and I’ll even repeat myself.”
Dad and Bishop Nightingale disappeared into the office, and Alison strolled curiously up and down the halls, examined the items on the bulletin board, and then settled down in a chair to read. The foyer gradually filled up with people. Soon Dad emerged from the office and, in between shaking hands and chatting with ward members, told Alison, “Meet you up on the stand.”
The stand? Alison walked slowly into the chapel and up the aisle. She rarely got to sit up front, and she was both excited and apprehensive. It was fun to be able to see all the ward members—but then, they could all see her too!
As she got settled, Bishop Nightingale leaned over and shook her hand again. “Remember what I told you about visitors,” he said.
Alison smiled and nodded, but she didn’t know why he was making such a fuss about it. Dad was used to speaking.
The meeting proceeded smoothly until the bishop introduced the last speaker on the program—and added, “Before our closing song, we’d also like to hear briefly from Alison Tanner, who’s here from New Salem Ward with her father.”
Alison gasped.
“I didn’t know he was going to do that, honest,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around her. “I’ll talk if you’d rather not.”
“I should have guessed,” Alison whispered back, remembering Bishop Nightingale’s comments and his twinkling eyes. Why had she been so quick to assume he’d meant Dad was to speak? She rubbed her hands, suddenly cold and damp, on her skirt. Her heart was thumping wildly. It would be easy to let Dad talk, but if she did, she’d never be able to face Birchington Ward again. “What can I say?”
“You could tell a scripture story or tell something you learned in Primary. And give your testimony. You’ll do OK; you’ve given talks before,” Dad whispered reassuringly.
Just in Primary, not in front of a whole ward! And not without any time to prepare, Alison thought. She pressed her trembling legs together and thought desperately. Primary—scriptures—Nephi! That’s it! We talked about Nephi not too long ago. She quickly opened her Book of Mormon.
“Amen,” the speaker said, and Alison swallowed hard. Dad gave her a reassuring pat, and she stood up. Reaching the podium, she waited while Bishop Nightingale adjusted the microphone. The chapel was a sea of faces—smiling, pleasant faces. Alison took a deep breath and began.
“One of my favorite scripture stories is about Nephi and about how he and his family left Jerusalem.” Alison briefly retold the story, managing to include the most important details. She finished and was momentarily tongue-tied. Primary! she remembered, relieved. “I’m glad I can go to Primary each week and learn about Nephi and other people; and I’m grateful for my teachers and for my family …” She concluded with her testimony, then, still feeling shaky, sat down.
Dad hugged her as the organist began playing the closing hymn. “Fantastic!” he whispered. “You handled it like a real pro!”
Alison leaned against him and whispered back, “I did it! I can’t believe I did it!”
After the meeting everyone on the stand and many people from the congregation congratulated Alison on her fine talk. When the bishop approached Alison, she tried to frown at him, but he looked so cheerful that she couldn’t.
“I was scared to death!”
“Now, now, I warned you. And you did a tremendous job. Next time it will be much easier.”
Next time? Alison thought as she walked down the aisle. Of course, there will be a next time—if not in Birchington or New Salem, then somewhere else.

Karl G. Maeser was certainly one of the most refined and educated men to join this Church in the first fifty years of its restored existence. Trained in the great classical tradition and distinguished in Saxony for his breadth of learning, he gave up virtually everything he had to enter the waters of baptism. Ostracized in his community and with no way to make a living, he brought his wife and two children to America, serving missions as he came and finally joining the Saints in these valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Once here he gave the rest of his life to the educational efforts of the Church, including fifteen years in abject poverty as the first and greatest principal of the then new and struggling Brigham Young Academy located in Provo, Utah.

In December of 1900, two months before he died, Brother Maeser was brought back to see once more the modest single-building campus on University Avenue he had built and loved and defended. He was helped up the stairs and into one of the classrooms where all of the students instinctively stood as he entered. Not a word was spoken. He looked at them slowly, then made his way to the chalkboard. With is bold script he wrote four statements on the board, turned, and walked out of the BYA forever, closing as he did so perhaps one of the most distinguished educational lives this university has ever known.

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad. He went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. He made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles when he had time. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much. It was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside and what I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

Allison began playing the piano at age three, and although she was very talented, she had no affinity for the keyboard. “My mother was a concert pianist, my aunt was a pianist, my grandmother was a pianist, my cousins were pianists, all my mother’s students were pianists,” she says. “Everything was piano, piano, piano. I just got tired of it.”
Then came the cello. When Allison was nine, she decided she wanted to play in her school orchestra, which already had a pianist, so she decided to switch. “I didn’t know the cello very well, but my mother loved it, I loved the sound, and I thought it would be a good size for me,” she says.
Within six months of her first cello lesson, Allison won her first competition, against children who had been playing for years. She seemed to be racing ahead, winning competitions right and left. She was invited to play with some of the world’s finest symphonies.
But her success is not without its price. With all that practicing and performing she’s involved in, there’s not a lot of time to spare for other activities. “Of course I feel like I’m missing out on other things all the time,” she says. “But with Church, schoolwork, and my cello, there just isn’t a lot of time for other things.”
It hasn’t been an easy choice for Allison to give up those other things, but she puts her shoulder to the wheel and follows through. “I know that if I want to accomplish the goals I have in mind, I have to make sacrifices,” she says. “Yes, I wish I could go out and socialize with my friends more, and go to all the activities, but if I don’t allow a certain amount of time for my music, it just isn’t going to go anywhere.”
So what makes it all worthwhile? What is the reward for all this work and effort? Just watch Allison play, and you’ll understand. As she draws her bow across the strings, Allison closes her eyes, and you note a visible transformation. It’s as if she becomes one with her instrument, a part of the music. You begin to believe she was born to play the cello, and she becomes enveloped in an unmistakable rhapsody.
To Allison, the music is worth it. At 16 years of age, music has taught this “average” teenager that if you want to go somewhere in life, decisions and sacrifices have to be made. Whether you’re studying for a test, preparing for a mission, or doing anything else, to excel you’ve just got to put in the time.
Maybe Allison Eldredge isn’t such an average teenager after all. She’s learned an eternal principle at a young age. In music, as in everything else, the satisfaction you take out is proportionate to the effort you put in. Allison knows that effort and determination are just what it takes.

“One time I invited a sports club friend to the English class that the missionaries were teaching at the church,” Kosei explains. “He and the missionaries became good friends with each other while he was learning English.”
However, the conversations didn’t stop at English lessons.
“My friend started to think about why these missionaries, who were almost his same age, were doing volunteer work and serving as missionaries in Japan. His next question was to ask what drives missionaries to serve. He’s now heard the missionary lessons and still has a correspondence with missionaries through video chat.”

In Japan, I grew up learning about things that didn’t make sense to me. So, before I joined the Church, I had questions about the universe and the purpose of life.
When I started taking lessons from missionaries, I felt overwhelmed by questions. I explained that I had searched for answers from so many different sources but never felt settled on what I’d found. They taught me that I could always rely on the Lord to lead me to truth.
Since then, I have always been able to seek answers from Him and follow the Spirit to continue deepening my testimony.

“I don’t know what to do for my social goal,” Maya said. She sat down on the couch and flipped through her Children’s Guidebook.
“Do you like any of the goal ideas in your booklet?” Mom asked.
“The one about welcoming others sounds fun,” Maya said. “It says to introduce yourself to someone new and help them meet other people.”
Maya looked up from her booklet. “But I don’t know anyone I could welcome. Will you pray with me, Mom?”
Mom sat down next to Maya. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Maya prayed, “please help me know who I can welcome. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After the prayer, Maya thought about her friend Jayden. They always played together when Jayden came to visit his grandma. And now Jayden, his dad, and his brother and sister had moved in with his grandma.
“What about Jayden?” Maya asked Mom. “I don’t think he and his brother and sister know many other kids here yet. Maybe I can help welcome them.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Mom said. “What do you want to do?”
Maya thought for a minute. “Maybe we could have a friendship party!” she said. “We could invite some kids from Primary.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Mom said.
Maya and Mom chose a day for the party. They called Jayden’s dad and took invitations to the kids in Primary. Then it was time to plan the fun! Maya and Mom came up with some games. They made lots of snacks and decorations.
The day of the party finally came. Maya was excited for Jayden and his siblings to meet everybody.
“Do you think they’ll have fun?” Maya asked.
“I’m sure they will,” said Mom.
Soon everyone came. Jayden and his brother and sister had big smiles. They played games, ate snacks, and made new friends. Maya was happy to see everyone have a good time together.
“Thank you!” Jayden said after the party. “That was so much fun.”
Maya smiled. She was glad she could help Jayden and his family feel welcome and loved. The friendship party had been a success!
This story took place in Canada.

While attending church as a missionary in the Hilongos Leyte Branch in the Philippines, I was surprised to discover that the speaker that day was a recently returned missionary. My companion and I were surprised because at that time we didn’t know of any family that had a missionary out. After the service, we quickly made arrangements to visit her later that day. When we arrived at her house, her family made a big show of marching out of the house and refused to talk to us. After they left, I looked at the returned missionary, who hours earlier had delivered a powerful testimony of Christ and who also suffered from a deformed leg that forced her to live on crutches and simply asked, “How do you handle all of this?” She smiled and opened her well-worn copy of the Book of Mormon to Jacob 6:5 and read, “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, I beseech of you in words of soberness that ye would repent, and come with full purpose of heart, and cleave unto God as he cleaveth unto you. And while his arm of mercy is extended towards you in the light of the day, harden not your hearts.” In this context, “cleave” means to “stick to” or “hold fast.” She explained that knowing God was cleaving unto her gave her strength to make it through her challenges. Her example and love of God has stayed with me ever since.

Polly and Ruth were blessed by their contributions. Their mutual generosity created a strong bond that lasted their whole lives. When Polly was 77 years old, she was still living in Boston, but she wanted to gather with the Saints in Utah Territory. So Ruth traveled to Boston and accompanied Polly to the Salt Lake Valley in 1857. “Aunt Polly” was beloved among the Saints in Utah until her death in 1866. When Ruth died in 1884, she was buried alongside Polly.7

Gioele and Michele stared at the construction site across the street. They could see lots of metal beams and layers of cement.
“It doesn’t look much like a temple yet,” Gioele said.
“But it will someday,” Michele answered.
This was the first time the brothers had seen the place where the Rome Italy Temple was being built. Right now their family had to go all the way to Switzerland to visit the temple. But this new temple was only 30 minutes away from their home!
Michele and Gioele watched the big yellow trucks move piles of dirt.
“I think that’s where one of the spires will be,” Michele said. He pointed to a spot near the front of the building.
Gioele nodded. “Look! Papà is coming,” he said. Their father was wearing his usual work outfit—church clothes with a white construction hat. He worked as an electrical engineer in the temple. They loved it when he told them about what he worked on each day. One day he told them that the statue of Christ had arrived. Another time he told them about the baptismal font.
That night, Michele made sure to say his prayers and thank Heavenly Father for the temple. He felt warm inside whenever he prayed about it.
Months went by. The curved temple walls were covered with strong stone, and two tall spires grew toward the sky. Then a small visitors’ center was built nearby. Every once in a while, Gioele and Michele would go there to press their faces against the window and see what had changed.
Then one day they got a happy surprise.
“How would you like to see the angel Moroni statue being put on top of the temple?” Mom asked. The families of the construction workers had all been invited to watch.
Gioele and Michele could hardly believe it. They were so excited!
The next morning they put on white shirts and ties. When they got to the temple, they walked around it with the other families. They even got to take a picture with the golden angel Moroni. It was huge!
Then the workers started moving the statue. Gioele watched the giant crane carefully raise angel Moroni to the top the tallest spire. A drone buzzed around taking a video. It was so cool!
Gioele thought about all the people who would learn about the Church by visiting the temple grounds. He thought about how lots of people were going to get married there and how people were going to get baptized for people who had died.
“Now it looks like a temple,” he told his brother. Michele smiled and nodded.
The brothers felt happy. They were excited to go inside the temple when they got older. Their testimonies were growing right along with the building.

About a year after my husband and I were married, my youngest brother’s three daughters came to live with us. My husband’s youngest sister and a girlfriend of mine also asked if they could stay with us for a while, and since we didn’t have any children, we welcomed all of them. Suddenly we were no longer just a couple; we were a large family.
Prior to this time, my husband and I were not too serious about holding home evenings because it was just the two of us, but with the new additions to our family, we decided to implement the program earnestly in our home.
From our first family home evening together, our Mondays were never the same, nor will our lives be the same, because of those wonderful experiences. Our usually quiet home started to be filled with music. The children who couldn’t read started to learn and developed a love for it. Those who were shy and hesitant to accept assignments developed confidence and showed eagerness to contribute, even volunteering to do special presentations. There was excitement throughout the week as everyone talked about what we had done the previous Monday night and what we were going to do the next one. Excitement would build as Monday neared and as family members were busy making preparations for their “big surprises.”
The promise of an exciting home evening even became a motivation for all to do their assigned household chores. Each home evening brought insights and discoveries that enriched our lives.
My nieces have since returned to their father, my sister-in-law has moved out on her own, and my girlfriend now lives in a dorm close to the school she’s attending. We’re back to being just a couple again. But we are still having those fun-filled, meaningful home evenings. Sometimes we invite other families to join us, and other times we take pleasure in just getting to know each other better, working out our problems together, and expressing our appreciation for each other. Our themes and activities continue to be simple and focused on meeting our needs.

There may be times in our lives when it feels like the gospel process isn’t working the way we expected. What do we do then? We may have questions like “Why do none of my efforts seem to make any difference? How can I know I’m on the right path when nothing is happening?” As I’ve thought about trusting the process and how it can help answer these kinds of deep personal questions, I remembered an “ah-ha” moment I had years ago while living in Nauvoo.

One morning, from the shore of the Mississippi River, I could see almost the entire length of a one-mile-long train that was stopped on the tracks on the opposite side of the river. While sitting there, I heard the engines of the train start to rumble to life. The sound got louder and louder, reaching a deafening volume that could be heard across the river, even causing a vibration in my car. I curiously watched as the stationary train was straining for all it was worth in order to get moving. Yet I saw nothing—not even the slightest twitch of the train for quite some time. It took several long minutes of great energy from the loud revving engines before the train inched ever so slightly forward. A continual enormous amount of effort was required for the train to overcome its resting inertia. All of that energy, time, and hard work in the beginning was required before any movement was perceptible. Eventually, the train slowly picked up speed and many minutes later the caboose finally left my view.

The Lord taught me a lesson about trusting the divine process as I watched the train. Sometimes in our lives, we might feel like we are putting in an incredible amount of effort to do all the right things, but we can’t seem to see any results. We feel like we are at a complete standstill or spinning our wheels. We question if the process works. My experience with the train taught me that every effort we exert in the process of becoming more like the Savior is making a tremendous difference in our ability to move down the path. In some cases, it takes time and a lot of patience before our actions start picking up enough momentum to be noticeable.

The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say, “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”

About a year ago I had new tires put on my car. I soon heard a new sound as I drove. It wasn’t very loud and it wasn’t consistent, so I assumed it was due to the road, which was under construction. However, the noise continued, and so I brought the car back to the garage. They assured me it was just the new tires. I was relieved to hear this and drove away again, ignoring the sound. Over time the noise seemed to get a bit louder, but I unconsciously just turned up the radio a bit more, ignored the noise, and went on my way.

Months later I was in Salt Lake City picking up several friends to go to a concert. As the first friend got into my car, she immediately heard the sound and asked what was wrong with my car. I replied that nothing was wrong—did she hear something? (That tells you how much I had tuned out the sound.) She heard it loud and clear, as did the others in the car.

I brought my car to the garage the next day and was told the noise was due to an abnormal rubbing that had caused major damage. It was a dangerous situation that needed immediate repair. I thought back on the miles I had driven and how I had learned to completely tune out what became a very loud noise.

I still can’t believe I had been able to tune it out. I realize it was quite crazy! I wonder what else in my life I had “tuned out” simply because I was too busy or distracted by other things in life—because I did not stop and listen.

“Come on, James,” Laura grumbled as she tugged her little brother’s hand. “I have homework to do, and I need to get home.” “But didn’t you see that lady?” James protested. “She was in the doorway over there by the hardware store, and she had a big bag.” “I didn’t notice.” Laura carefully checked traffic before guiding James across the street.
“But, Laura, she didn’t even have a coat on, and it’s snowing.”
“She can go downtown to the shelter,” Laura assured James. “It’s warm there.”
“She needs a coat,” James stated matter-of-factly, half-running to keep up with his sister’s long strides.
“You can’t do anything about that,” Laura said, pulling open the door to their apartment building. “I’ll make you a snack now,” she said, “but then please don’t interrupt me while I do my math. Mom and Dad will be home soon.”
James nodded and twisted the tip of his mitten, still thinking about the lady standing with her arms wrapped around her in the cold.
After supper was over and the kitchen had been cleaned, James put on his jacket, hat, and mittens and grabbed his bulging backpack. “Laura, if your homework’s done, will you take me for a walk?”
“Why? It’s snowing and cold.”
“I need exercise. My teacher said that children should get lots of it.”
Laura sighed, and James gave her a big hug. “Pleeeease,” he pleaded.
“Oh, all right.” Laura pulled on her coat. “We’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” she hollered to Mom.
James skipped along beside Laura as they walked down the block.
“You sure are full of pep tonight,” she said. “And why the backpack—is that to build your muscles too?”
James giggled and twirled around. “You’ll see,” he said, smiling.
When they reached the corner with the stoplight, Laura turned around, but James stood still, staring at the empty doorway near the hardware store. “The lady’s gone!”
“I told you she’d probably go to the shelter.”
“But I brought her a present.” James unzipped his backpack. “See—I have a blanket for her. It’s my blue one. I don’t use it anymore. Now what can I do?”
Laura looked at James’s watery eyes and quivering lip. She smiled gently. “Maybe we can take your blanket to the shelter,” she said. “But we’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if it’s OK to give it away, and we’ll need one of them to drive us there.”
Mom and Dad listened as James told them about the lady and asked to take the blanket to the shelter. By the time he’d finished, Laura came from her bedroom, carrying some sweaters. “If we can go to the shelter, I’ll take these—OK? I’ve outgrown them.”
“Hmmmm,” Dad said. “Wait here.” He and Mom disappeared into their bedroom. They were soon back with an armful of clothes each. “We can take these, too,” he said.
James helped fold the clothes into three bags. Then they all bundled up and stepped out into the hallway of their apartment building. As they shut their door, Mrs. Hopkins, their neighbor, was just going into her own apartment. Noticing their bags, she asked Laura, “Going to visit your grandparents?”
“No, we’re taking this stuff to the shelter,” James announced proudly before Laura could answer.
“You are?” said Mrs. Hopkins. “Could you wait just a minute?” She hurried inside and soon came back with a box of groceries. “Will you take these for me?”
Meanwhile, Mr. Thomas had opened his door to see what was going on. It turned out that he had two bags of books he wanted to donate. Then Jimmy, his son, gave them a big stuffed bear. Miss Andrews, who lived farther down the hall, gave them some boots and mittens and two coats. By the time they left, their station wagon was full of bags and boxes.
“I’ll help carry the bags,” James said. “They’re not too heavy for me, and I’m a good helper.”
“Yes, you are,” Dad said.
Laura gently ruffled James’s hair sticking out around his cap. “Your one blanket started an avalanche,” she said. “I didn’t know such a little squirt could do that.”

Yet it was not the first time that a Soviet leader had taken grave political risks to prevent nuclear war. During the Cuban Missile Crisis of October 1962, the world was saved widespread destruction and perhaps annihilation by the bravery of a single Soviet military officer.

Many people know something of the Cuban Missile Crisis, a tense, thirteen-day standoff between the United Sates and the Soviet Union. The crisis was triggered by the discovery that the Soviets had placed nuclear missiles in Cuba, close enough to destroy many of the largest U.S. cities. In fairness, it should be noted that U.S. missiles in Turkey posed a similar threat to the Soviet Union.

The story of tense and ultimately successful negotiations between President John F. Kennedy and Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev is well known. Both leaders rose above their own immediate political interests, as well as pressures from their respective military advisers, to save the world from nuclear devastation.

But it was forty years before historians learned of a similarly heroic decision, made in the moment by one Soviet sailor under hard-to-imagine pressure. [17] Vasili Arkhipov, son of Russian peasants, was aboard a submarine armed with a nuclear torpedo when, during the Cuban missile crisis, his sub was discovered by U.S. warships. An aircraft carrier and 11 destroyers collaborated in trying to capture Vasili’s submarine. The U.S. vessels dropped explosive depth charges meant to disable the sub, or at least terrify the crew to the point of surrendering. A crew member later likened the bombardment to “sitting in a metal barrel, which somebody is constantly blasting with a sledgehammer.” [18]

The captain and his crew had not received any communication from Moscow for several days. Moreover, in an attempt to avoid capture, they had dived to a depth that prevented receiving news from U.S. commercial radio stations, which they had been monitoring during the escalating crisis. As far as they knew, war had broken out.

The Soviet captain and a ranking officer agreed that they should launch their nuclear torpedo against the U.S. warships. Ordinarily, agreement by these two leaders would have been enough to take this action. But Vasili, a fleet officer, happened to be aboard that sub. Because of his status, firing a nuclear weapon required his approval as well.

Fortunately, Vasili knew firsthand the deadly effects of nuclear radiation. Just a year earlier, he had been an officer on a nuclear submarine when the reactor that powered it developed a coolant leak and threatened to melt down. To prevent that catastrophe, which would have killed everyone aboard, the captain ordered the seven members of his engineering crew to enter the reactor compartment and make a temporary fix to the cooling system. They succeeded, but at the cost of their lives: within a month all seven men were dead, having suffered unimaginably. In the ensuing two years, fifteen more sailors on that sub died of radiation poisoning. Vasili himself felt the effects of irradiation, though he did not immediately die from it.

In that awful moment of truth in the depths of the ocean near Cuba, with the lives of his fellow sailors at risk and his military career likely to be ruined for apparent cowardice, Vasili brought his providential personal experience to bear. His mental faculties were, like those of everyone aboard the submarine, compromised by temperatures of 120 degrees and a buildup of carbon dioxide due to the failure of the air conditioning system. After four hours of this torture, Vasili’s fellow sailors were passing out. [19]

But Vasili had seen worse conditions. He no doubt recalled the deaths of his fellow sailors the year before. He likely imagined a world poisoned by radiation, with only the luckier victims dying immediately, and with generations suffering various degrees of poisoning.

Providentially, Vasili prevailed. The submarine surfaced on what proved to be the very day, October 27, when President John F. Kennedy and Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev agreed to the removal of their nuclear missiles from Turkey and Cuba, respectively. Nuclear war was averted. The projected deaths of one-third of humanity did not occur. The world continued on its increasingly peaceful and prosperous trajectory.

One day as I read my patriarchal blessing, I was impressed by a passage that described how I could help perform a marvelous work for my departed ancestors and others who were living. I thought, “How can this happen if I don’t know where to start?” Later I read in Doctrine and Covenants 82:8, 10:
“I give unto you a new commandment, that you may understand my will concerning you; …
“I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.”
I felt the Lord encouraging me, and I prayed for a path forward to find my family history records.
A few months later while in Shanghai, China, I met Shirley Wu, who was visiting from Taiwan. We soon became good friends. When she found out I was looking for my family’s genealogy, she encouraged me not to give up. She suggested that as a starting place, I should go to the local household records department in Taiwan to request old addresses. “Maybe something will come up,” she said.
I flew to Taiwan, hoping to find the record of my great-grandfather’s home, but unfortunately, it no longer existed. I also didn’t know his birthplace or the name of my ancestor who first came to Taiwan. Despite this setback, Shirley told me not to worry. “Just have faith,” she said. “God will help us, and your ancestors on the other side of the veil will help too.” A few days later, I returned to Shanghai, hoping and praying for a miracle.
One Sunday afternoon, Shirley sent me a picture of some genealogy records. She asked me if any of the names looked familiar.
I was astonished. The names of my ancestors were on the page! When I asked how she found them, she told me the following miraculous story:
I had been thinking about your genealogy for several weeks, and I felt that I should go to the address of your great-grandfather’s home to check the area.
After two hours on the high-speed train, I bussed to the city of Chi Kan, a place I had never been before. I fell asleep, and at the final stop the driver woke me up. I got off, looked around, and saw I was in a fishing village. I asked a young shop owner across the street for directions. He called a taxi for me and directed the driver to a place where an old man lived. When I arrived and asked that man where I could find the town’s genealogy record, he told me to walk a few blocks to a temple by the seashore.
At the temple, I saw a group of men having tea and chatting. They said that they were just starting an annual meeting of the Liu Shi family genealogy to prepare for a big conference in October. I explained that I was there to find family names for my friend.
“Usually no one is at this temple,” they said. “The door is locked except for the two to three hours when we hold the annual meeting. You are very lucky to meet us here.”
When I told the men I was looking for the name Liu Bei, they told me they had been collecting the Liu family genealogy for years and didn’t recall that name. One of the men kindly offered his genealogy records for me to take a look. They continued their meeting while I searched the records. After about 10–15 minutes, I shouted, “I found it!”
Shocked, they stopped talking and grabbed the book. I showed them the name, and they told me that it came from the family line of Mr. Liu Qiu Shan, who was attending their meeting that day. I purchased a copy of the genealogy book, which contained records going back 26 generations and 2,460 years of ancestors’ names on extended family lines.
Mr. Liu Qiu Shan later gave me a ride to the train station. He told me if I had come an hour earlier or the next day, I wouldn’t have found anyone or anything there. He said, “This place is always locked. It must be the ancestors’ blessing. It is truly a miracle.”
Shirley is my angel. She is full of Christ’s love and is always eager to help do God’s work. She is a great example of ministering to others. Her willingness to serve has brought great blessings and a miracle to hundreds of souls. I testify there are angels among us, but we need to have the desire to do the Lord’s errand in order to receive their help. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) said: “Believe in yourself. Believe in your capacity to do great and good things. Believe that no mountain is so high that you cannot climb it. Believe that no storm is so great that you cannot weather it.”1 When we seek the Lord’s guidance, we will see His hand and the angels in our lives, and we will be able to accomplish what He has asked us to do.

I first learned the principle of priesthood caring from my own father and grandfather, but I have also seen it manifested by thousands of worthy men. I learned great lessons of priesthood caring as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. I was assigned to serve as a junior home teaching companion to a great Scandinavian immigrant named Algot Johnson from Malmo, Sweden. I learned to admire everything about him, including his endearing Swedish accent. He taught me the true meaning of the Lord’s instruction to the teachers:
“The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always, and be with and strengthen them;
“And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking;
“And see that the church meet together often, and also see that all the members do their duty.”
Brother Johnson had paid a great price to leave his beloved Sweden and come to the United States. He was very dedicated. Despite the difference in our ages, we became lifelong friends. When he became our ward Sunday School superintendent, he asked for me to be his counselor. I was only 17 years of age. He was a successful contractor, and when I returned home from World War II, he built my first home. When I graduated from law school, I did legal work for him, and when I billed him for my legal services, he paid me more than I asked. That did not happen very often. I cite this experience to emphasize the importance of giving every Aaronic Priesthood holder the opportunity to serve as a junior companion to faithful Melchizedek Priesthood holders.

Several years ago I wanted to plan a family home evening focused on family history. Our children, then ages 9 through 13, were only vaguely aware of some of their ancestors, so I came up with a game that helped us all become better acquainted with our ancestors.
I prepared a six-generation pedigree chart on a large piece of paper, filling in only the children’s names and leaving the other spaces blank. (I made a key to the whole chart so I would know how it should look when completed.)
For each blank space on the chart, I made a separate card containing the ancestor’s full name and listing some information about that person. For example, one card read, “Ira Walter Gardner. I was born in 1849 in Sweetwater, Wyoming, while my parents were crossing the plains.”
As I passed out the cards, I explained the rules. Using the information on the cards, each person would deduce where on the chart his or her cards would go. At each turn they could ask me yes or no questions about their ancestor. As long as they got yes answers, they could continue to ask. If they put their card in the wrong space or got a no answer, their turn was over. The children caught on quickly, and soon the chart was complete.
We all enjoyed the game, and the children began to develop a greater appreciation for their forebears.

One day when Sasha was 14, she saw a handbill from a Protestant church inviting people who wanted to know about God to attend a meeting. Sasha thought, “Oh, they wanted to know about God!” Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to share the gospel with earnest seekers of the truth, she went to the meeting—all alone. During the service, she courageously stood before the room full of people and bore her testimony of the Savior and the Restoration. “I told them that I know with all my heart it is true,” she says, “and I invited them all to church.” Since that day in 1992, Sasha has helped bring several friends into the Church.